The Capitol Games
by Mazy07
Summary: After the rebellion, the Mockingjay decided to make the Capitol suffer by making the annual Capitol Games. A young girl named Jule is chosen and she struggles to understand why everyone is so honoured.
1. Chapter 1

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow  
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow  
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes  
And when again they open, the sun will rise._

_Here it's safe, and here it's warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm  
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you._

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away  
A cloak of leaves, A moonbeam ray  
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay  
And when again it's morning, they'll wash all away._

_Here it's safe, and here it's warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm  
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you._

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Plop, plop, plop, plop.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Every sound that flows past me echos in my head a million times more than it should. A simple tick of a clock makes my head pound, and every water drop makes my eyes cross. Like torture.

Home doesn't seem like home anymore. It seems like a distant place. Somewhere that bad things happen, and where things get lost and not found.

Today is Reaping Day.

And my name is in the bowl 50 times. I guess the odds aren't exactly in my favour.

I do not live in one of the districts, for they were destroyed in the Rebellion started by the Mockingjay. I live in the Capitol, and since there needs to be 24 people in the Games, those 24 people are chosen at random, all of them coming from the Capitol. So that means 12 girls between the ages of 12 and 18 will be chosen. One of them I'm sure will be me.

Our names are entered once when we're 12, then twice when we're 13, and so on, just as it used to be with the districts. But with us, we don't get our names entered in more for food, but for luxuries. Things such as vehicles (more than one), clothes (more than necessary), leisure activities (movies, swimming, etc.), and basically anything that involves having fun. And since my parents are the type to have way too much of everything, I'm sitting in my house waiting to die.

And all I get is a, "Sorry, sweets." I turn in my chair at the dinner table to see my mother, all dressed up in what the district people call Capitol Clothes. She wore a dress that looked like a bright orange pencil skirt on the bottom, and on the top were ruffles that made it hard to see her face with faux flowers implanted everywhere possible. Her heels were so high it looked as if she were standing on her tip-toes, and her hair was curled tight on top of her head with a huge bejeweled hat tilting slightly to the side. She examined her nails, as long as a knives, and perfected them. "You know your father and I have to have our luxuries!" she said more exctedly than she should have.

"Yes, mom, I know. I don't blame you." _For putting my life on the line so you can have your bracelets! _"There's millions of people here. It's not like I'm actually going to be in the Games." I said the exact opposite of what I believe. I almost 99.9% sure I'll be chosen.

"Mhm... Well then, go put your Reaping outfit on and we'll scootle off!" She turned on her heels and walked down the stairs to the living room. Her steps looked forced and awkward, like she was stepping on nails with warts all over her feet.

I walked through my house slowly, trying to stall. Colours were everywhere. They were placed with no sense. When I got to my room, tmy Reaping clothes were sitting on my bed. I shooed the Avox who was waiting beside my dresser, in case I needed anything, out of the room. She nodded stiffly and walked out with her head low.

The Reaping clothes were bland and grey. All they were was a tight t-shirt and tight leggings, to show off your figure for the sponsers. I slid them on with ease, and looked in my mirror. I saw an average girl with dark brown eyes and long ashy grey hair with one streak of gold underneath her bangs. She was slim with no curves, just straight and uninteresting.

They make us wear this outfit instead of our own so that the sponsers don't sponser us because of the quality of our clothing, but for our skills and personality. Like there actually paying attention!

Taking deap breathes the whole way, I walked out of my house, and onto the crowded street. People swarmed the place. Me and my family live in a condo right near the Training Center, and also where they used to show the Hunger Games on the big screen, but now we use it as our Reaping stage. Though most are shoving there way past eachother, they all move out of their way for me, a tribute. My mother had her hand gently rested on my back, weaving me in the right direction. A crowd has gathered in the back, all of emotionless parents and strangers, while the kids are roped of into places sectioned off by age groups.

I find my place with a group of 16-year-olds I barely knew, when my mother calls my name, "Jule! Jule, look at me!" I turn, worried something might have gone wrong, but I am welcomed by a blinding flash. At first I thought it was the sun, but when the light cleared, I see my mother with a camera in her hand. She waved and gave me a thumbs up and a smile. "Good luck!" she chirped.

I turn my back to her in discust. The people of the Capitol found the Games coming here as an honour. They thought it would be amazing to see their own people on the television, fighting their neighbours. Apparently, with us in there, it would make for a more interesting game. I beg to differ.


	2. Chapter 2

The ceremony started as usual. Many Capitol leaders stood infront of us children, wide-eyed and frightened, and told us how big of an honour it would be to die for the people.

To die for our parents.

The people that gave birth to us and raised us, were now expected to hand us off to strangers that would lead us to our certain deaths. Yet smiles were plastered on every single one of their faces.

I heard air being inhaled all around me as they rolled out the bowls on gold trollies. These bowls weren't the same size as they were years ago. Now they were about as big as a train car, with a small opening in the bottom, making for an easier access to the slips of paper that held our fates.

The woman that stood from one of the solid gold chairs was the one that would pick the tributes. She wore classic Capitol clothing; rainbow coloured and many fabrics stringed together to make "fashion". White as snow, her face seemed forced. Like a smile had been painted on with permanent paint. The way she walked, almost limping, made me realise she had been wearing those heels way too long for comfort.

"As expected, the time has come to select twelve boys and twelve girls to participate in the annual Capitol Games!" Her voice echoed through the streets, striking fear to my heart. Though she was obviously not miserable, she wasn't as happy as most of our presenters. The bird like voice that came from her mouth seemed tired and overworked, like someone who needed a vacation, if she didn't have kids of course. Unless she was like the rest of the parents here. Heartless and selfish.

"Let's say we mix things up and choose the boys first!" I looked over at the boys, their faces twisted in nervousness. I saw many faces that I recognised, which made me even more scared for them. "Just to make things more fun, we chose to use blue and pink coloured paper this year!" Because God forbid things aren't fun. Looking at the bowls again, I saw they were indeed coloured blue and pink.

The lady stuck a taloned hand into the opening into the bowl, and just before she read the name, she spoke into the microphone with an almost sinister voice, "May the odds be _ever _in your favour." And then she began reading.

As each one was called up, shouts of amusement and glee exploded from the crowd. Some of the boys that went up had mute faces, as if they wished they could scream, but kept it to themselves. Others cried, and to my own amazment, some cheered along with them. One in particular, a boy named Spens Galloway I knew from school. We weren't friends, but not enemies either. We were somewhere in between aquaintences and strangers. But at the moment he seemed more of a stranger. At school, he's always been 'that nice guy from period five', the one who'd pick up your books after purposely knocking them to the ground, and the one who'd ask you out on a date after meeting you two minutes before. Rebellious was how I would describe him. And maybe even charming. He seemed like the type to be against the Capitol Games and protest against it. Not the kind to be raising his fists and cheering with the crowd like he was right now.

His striking blue eyes scanned the other possible tributes, and then landed on me. He lowered his fists and winked at me before continuing his assent to the stage. My stomach lurched.

"And now, for the girls!" said the lady, now blushing with flattery from being flirted with by some of the tributes, walked to the bowl filled with pink slips. Her hand once again reached in and began choosing.

The girls were a repeat. They walked up, each with a different reaction to being chosen. Eleven girls were picked, and a small bubble of relief blossomed in my stomach. That all came crashing down when she read the last name. "Jule Edenthaw!"

A cruel sense of realisation flooded through me. My toes started to prickle, along with the rest of my body. _This can't be real_, I thought. _No, no, no, no._

Eyes were on me. And although their mouths were open and cheering and their hands came together to clap, I could hear nothing. The world began to sway underneath my feet, and I found myself cluching on to the sweater of a girls I barely knew to stay balanced. She looked almost stunned by this physical contact so I let go and said, "Sorry," but all that came out was a meek stutter.

The lady on the stage ushered me onstage, waking me from my daze. The sound came barelling into my ears, causing me to cover them with my hands. Somehow, I made it onstage without collapsing in on myself, and was greeted subtly by my fellow tributes. I stood amongst girls that were older, stronger, and towered over me like skyscrapers.

I looked out at the crowd and frowned...

Just at the same time my mother smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

They herded us out like livestock when every tribute was picked. We walked in lines; boys to the left, girls on the right. No one spoke, making loneliness creep up inside me at the moment I needed it the least. Since we would be in the Capitol the whole time before the Games, there were no 'last goodbyes'. So, immediately we were taken to our stylists in the Training Centre.

As we walked through the empty hallway into the building, I heard someone _psst!_ beside me. Thinking it was a trick of the ears, I didn't acknowledge it. A foot smashed into my shin a moment later. I cried out and searched for the guilty one, only to be greeted by angry and suspicious Peacekeepers and curious teenagers. I returned my eyes to the floor, walking silently with the rest of the normal tributes. That's what I am. A _normal _tribute. And the fate for a normal tribute is death.

We entered the large grey room in which we would be made presentable for the tribute parade. Beds-or surgical tables-lay in between tall white curtains, seperating each area. I was picked from the bowl last, therefore I was at the back of the line watching the rest of the tributes being pointed towards their tables. They nodded and walked over to them with fear that radiated off most of their bodies.

My turn. "Your turn," said a man in a lime green suit that glittered with every movement mimicking my thoughts. I nodded like the rest and followed the line his finger made to a table surrounded by three colourful people. They each had their own; the only man was wearing all pink, but different shades, and a woman with purple hair had a purple outfit to match, same with the other woman, who wore blue instead. I smiled at them, hoping to make a good impression. They returned the favour with lipsticked scowls and eyeshadowed eye rolls. My smile faded instantly.

"Look at this one, Barry. Almost too skinny!" said the purple one as she walked around me, as if she were scrutinizing every inch of me.

The blue one joined her and giggled. "Funny how I've never found that possible," she said, and her skinny-beyond-belief body showed she meant it. "What _do _you think, Barry?

The pink one, Barry, sauntered towards me with squinty eyes. He was a scrawny and spidery, with four inch tall spikes exploding from his head. Most of his face I could tell was fake. His nose was too pointy, his eyes were too pink, his lips looked like they'd been stung by bees, and there were three lines that looked like scratches on either side of his neck. In his hands he held what looked like a dress. He threw it at me, and surprisingly, I caught it. His eyes widened a bit as if he were impressed by my less-than-impressive reflexes. "Put these on," he demanded. I looked around for some sort of change room. When I didn't find one, I looked back at Barry. He raised his eyebrows and answered as if he knew what I was about to ask, "Here."

Horror ran through my veins. "Here as in I _change _here?" They exchanged glances amongst the three of them and nodded. I swallowed hard.

"Everyone else is doing it. See?" The purple one guestured to other tables, and sure enough, I was greeted by sights that I did not want to see. Including the backside of Spens. He turned his head as if he felt my gaze and smiled. I turned my head quickly and felt the blood rush to my cheeks. The stylists, apart from Barry, giggled into their hands.

"Well, could you at least close the curtain?" I pleaded. Sure enough, Barry glided over to one of the curtain ends and pulled them closed. He returned to his spot infront of me. I cleared my throat and spoke again, "Now, could you turn around?"

Barry scoffed and turned around. "Insecurity won't get you anywhere, my dear," he mumbled, so low I thought he didn't want me to hear it.

Before I could stop myself, I replied. "Neither will insensitivity." I saw him flinch, and that brought me some sort of wierd satisfaction as I peeled of my Reaping clothes and replaced them with the dress he's given me. When I draped it over my body, I realised it wasn't a dress after all, but a hospital gown with an open back and such thin material that you could see _everything _through it. I might has _well _have changed infront of them.

I came back to the table and laid flat on it. The stylist came up with their tools and started to make me 'pretty'.


	4. Chapter 4

I closed my eyes as they did their 'work'. The sound of clanking metal made me nervous, so every now and then I would peek through my eyelids to see what was going on. Barry felt my legs, for hair I think, and came away impressed. He spoke, "Jesus, kid. You're like a hairless cat."

The two girls giggled, and I heard one whisper, "That's funny, since her mother's more of a dog." My stomach clenched in anger. I felt the need to stand up for my mother. And it was exactly that; a need. I didn't want to, because I somehow found myself agreeing with them. I didn't want to be like her, so it was nice to be seperated from her. Even if I had to be compared to an animal to do it.

Next, they moved to my nails. I felt the rough edge of the file scraping away bits of my nail and skin, and then they coated them with cool, clear polish. They did the same with my toes. Since I didn't need any waxing, they went immediately to the hydrating. After, my body was drenched in different smelling lotions and stung as if a million needles were piercing my skin.

Indeed, I did feel like a hairless cat. Barry examined me as I lay on the table. I squirmed, trying to make my 'parts' a little less visible. He smiled awkwardly and said, "I think you're ready." I exhailed with relief and sat up on the table. The purple one was holding a long, white bag in her hands, a dress I'm assuming.

Immediately, I asked them (sarcastically) what I would be dressed as. "So what am I going to be? A diamond ring? A hovercraft? A prosti-"

Barry interupted me, "No. None of those. And I'm insulted you came to such conclusions." He glared at me as he spoke, "You will be something different. Now that only one tribute rides on one chariot, it's crucial that you stand out." He glided to the bag, and unzipped it.

My jaw dropped to the floor. "So you want me to stand out by every part of me _hanging _out?" The"dress" was made of a stretchy, tan material. There were patches of floral designs and sparkles for coverage in the most important places. It wasn't a dress at all, but a tight jump suit that had a droopy neckline and tight limbs.

Barry brought it closer, and I cowered. He looked at me confused and said, "Do you want to live?" I nodded hesitantly. "Well then, you're going to need sponsers. And how do you get sponsers? By wearing this amazing outfit. I can assure you they will be impressed."

The sponsers must be perverts then.

"So, here." He shoved the dress in my direction, and without getting them to turn away this time, I stripped down and slid into the jumpsuit. The blue one remarked, "She doesn't even fill it out, Barry."

I blushed, but wasn't embarassed. It's not like she'd fill it out either. Barry nodded as if he took that into consideration. He reached into a drawer by the table and brought out two peach rubber bowls. Wait, not bowls.

Oh, dear.

Later, after I was all stuffed and plumped, they did my hair. Apparently, they adored my gold streak, but the rest needed to be dyed. "Not funky enough," the purple one had said. At the end of my hair-doing, I had bright red hair with my regular gold streak sticking through at the bangs. It was pinned everywhere possible, and heavily framed a glittery head dress that matched my jumpsuit.

Barry walked up to me, and began the makeup, and was done in a matter of minutes. The person staring back at me in the mirror wasn't me. She was a beautiful girl with defined cheekbones and big eyes. She was a grown-up, with a grown-up body.

Barry rushed me out of the stylist station and brought me to another big room with high ceilings and twenty four people standing in a line.

Mentor time.


	5. Chapter 5

The mentors greeted us coldly. Their faces stone-like and fixed on their tribute. One of them was staring at me, and surely, I was guided to him. His eyes were very blue, making discomfort flow through me for they looked as if they could stare into my soul. A ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his pink lips, "You must be Jule. Jule Edenthaw. Not the most flattering name, I must say, my dear." He came closer to me, and I found myself shrinking back. He was so intimidating. He wore an all black suit with the occasional pocket in an unpredictable place, and his hair was the colour of coal with random spots of white, as if someone streaked it with chalk. "I don't bite unless you give me a reason to," he assured me.

I gulped, and realised that I was terrifyed of this man. I don't exactly know why, but his atmosphere was chilly and uncomfortable. "And what kind of reason is that?"

He chuckled in his throat, "Does it matter? You look like a good girl, I wouldn't worry about trouble from you."

I looked back at Barry, who was pretending to be fascinated with the shine of his shoes. I found myself oddly missing the styling table. His head snapped up, bouncing his pink streaked curls. I gasped as I realised what the three scratches on either side of his neck actually were: gills. "Well, I'll leave you to your parade preparations. Good day." He turned on his heals and glided away.

Slowly and cautiously, I turned back to my mentor. He stared at me, and I at him. Finally, he spoke, "My name is Leonis Leprivick. And I will be your mentor." He stuck out his hand, expecting me to shake it. After he found out I wasn't going to, he pulled away with the corner of his mouth pulled up.

Gathering bravery, I spoke, "How are you going to mentor me if you haven't even been in the games?" I knew he hadn't, because the Capitol Games had only been going on for a few years. So, Leonis, being a man of atleast forty five, couldn't have been eighteen or under in any of them.

The question didn't draw any emotion, just a snarky response, "I'm a smart man, Jule. I think I know how to tell someone how to survive. Although, seeing you now, I don't know why I'd bother."

I wanted to feel sad by being insulted by the one person who was going to help me live, but instead I felt like I needed to prove him wrong. Lets see how snarky he would be if he were in my shoes. I laughed suddenly and looked down at my shoes. They were sparkled to the extreme and made me atleast a head taller.

I would _love _to see Leonis in my shoes.

I snapped out of it and looked to see Leonis with a confused face, along with everyone else in the room. I guess my outburst stood out in a room that's only noise was the low mumble of voices. Shrugging, I crossed my arms and stared ahead of me, pretending I didn't want to crawl in a hole and hide.

Only minutes later, everyone seemed aquainted, and tributes began wondering to speak to others outside of their circle. As expected, I stood alone. It's not that I liked being alone, it's that I always was and had grown used to it.

My peace was interupted by yet another kick to my shin. As I did before, I cried out and looked for the guilty one.

"Why is it that you can't take a hint?"

I spun to see Spens. Imediately, I blushed from seeing him again, this time with pants on. He looked at me expectantly, and I realised he had asked me a question. "Oh, uh... Take a hint about what?"

He smiled and laughed. His hair, which was a dark shade of brown, was more trimmed than it was before when I saw him at the Reaping, and it stook out in all direction with splashes of green glitter resting on its ends. He had dark brown eyes that were rimmed with long dark lashes and even more green glitter. "Did you not feel my steel tipped boot smash into your leg earlier? I would think you did considering you screamed out loud in front of everyone. Or do you like making a sceptical out of yourself?"

"That was you? Why did you do that?" I asked.

"I wanted to tango in the middle of the hallway, isn't it obvious?" He tugged on the sleeve of his suit, which was bright green and and was splashed with, no surprise, even more glitter.

I scoffed. The one thing I hated more than public nudity was sarcasm. I am alowed to use it, but no one else. It's just stupid and annoying. Well, from other people's mouths atleast. "I'm serious. I have bruises."

"Oh, I know. I can see them through your..." he struggled for words and guestured to my jumpsuit, "dress?"

"Close enough."

"And I think we're even now, with the whole you seeing my butt thing." I'm sure my face was as red as my hair then. "'Cause I can see a whole lot more of you."

I'm sure I would have fainted from embarassment if Leonis hadn't come between us then. "Alright, boy," he said as he looked at Spens. "Go to your chariot. Leave the poor underdressed girl alone."

Spens grinned and sauntered away, taking his sweet time. Leonis looked at me and grasped my shoulders, preventing me from backing away. "Now, you. You go out there and act like the biggest wimp in the world."

"W-what? Aren't I supposed to act like I can win?" I stuttered.

He shook his head, "No. The other tributes need to not be threatened by you. If they are, chances are you'll be dead right smack after the countdown. So basically, act like every person in that audience is me. That'll make you scared."

He was right. I felt my knees shaking beneath me, and I was pretty sure if he hadn't been holding my shoulders so tightly I would have been on the ground. Slowly, I nodded. He let go, leaving my shoulders and neck numb, and shoved me towards my chariot. Two black horses stomped and breathed heavily infront of it, waiting to pull me out.

I climbed it, trying not to get my jumpsuit stuck on something and have it pull off. The chariot surged forward soon after, and ahead of me was a very tall wooden door that looked like it weighed millions.

I breathed heavily as other tributes infront of me were greeted by the cheers and hoots of the audience, and waited for my turn.


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry for taking so long with updates! I'm fully committing my time to only this story until it's done so new chapters should be up more often from now on. Thanks for the support!_

The sound hit me like a wave. The applause and screams of cheer filled my ears. All around me, I saw people smiling and laughing, their mouths shaping my name as well as other tributes. They threw streamers and glitter and roses, some smacking me in the face as I failed to impress them.

Leonis said to act like a wimp, like I couldn't win. At first, I thought maybe he was right. I mean, I don't want a target on my back. If I act like that the stronger tributes would leave me alone, and I could surprise them.

Surprise them with what? It's not like I've ever trained for the Games, or even watched it for more than a few seconds. I've tried, just in case I was entered. I thought I could learn from what the past tributes did. But then again whenever I'd gather good tips, they'd be slaughtered.

So why would I act weak? Then they'll see me as an easy target, and for sure kill me. No matter how I look at this, I die. So much for positive thoughts.

I knew before I even did this, Leonis would disapprove. Raising my arms, I cheered along with the crowd and smiled. Immediately, the applause grew louder, making my ears pop. This is right. This is what Leonis should have told me to do! They were _loving_ it!

The crowd as I passed raised their hands, blew me kisses, sprinkled me with glitter, and even threw small beads at me. I looked down to inspect one that had landing on my chest.

Ha-ha. _Jewels_.

It amazed me the people loved me this much. Of course I despise them for even cheering for something like this, but I also felt grateful that _I_ was the one they were cheering for. Confusing, I know.

The chariot came to a stop in front of the tall stage on which President Snow used to stand. When the Capitol people learned of his death, most were devastated. They worshipped him. I on the other hand, have always found something creepy about him. He reminded me of a snake. His striking eyes would look at you as if he were studying every detail. Learning your weaknesses. And the way he always wore a white rose made me feel as if he were trying to mask something. Something he didn't want us to know about.

But now that he is dead—trampled they say—he was replaced by the person that started the whole thing. The whole destruction of the districts.

The Mockingjay.

As she entered, the city fell silent. So silent I could hear a baby cry in the distance. The tributes, including myself, were lined up in our chariots staring up at her in awe. Though she was far away, I could see every detail. She stood tall and proud with her intricately engraved bow strung to her back. She wore an oversized black robe made of feathers—slightly resembling the wedding gown she wore that burst into flames after her Games—that was tied at the middle with a flame red belt. Her hair, as always, was braided to the side and fell to her waist. She was lightly touched with age at her greying hair and shallow frown lines. And perhaps the most haunting of all, the Mockingjay pin rest on the right side of her chest, sparling in the bright, dramatic lighting.

She spoke with a steady voice, "Welcome tributes, to the fourteenth annual Capitol Games." Her tone wasn't loud and exciting as President Snow's had once been, but rather emotionless. It sounded powerful, and it echoed through the city like a scream in an empty room. "You have been chosen to participate for a reason. And that reason is punishment. Just as the Capitol had punished the districts for rebellion. Your sacrifice is honoured, and appreciated by both your family," she dramatically gestured to one side of the city, "and strangers," then the other.

No one cheered. No one ever did after her speeches. They injected fear into my bones as well as guilt.

She finished on a lighter concept, though her tone did not change. "Good luck. And may the odds be ever in your favour." With a slight bow, she stepped down from the podium and walked away.

As if forced, the city applauded for a short few seconds, and died instantly. Then as the chariots were tugged away in a perfect line, they cheered for us as they did when we came in.

The room was not comfortable and glamorous as the rumours had said. I found it quite the opposite. The bed was rested on floor lower than the rest of the room, and had a sleek, plain design. There were plants in white and oddly shaped vases resting against one wall, and on the other was a window that looked out towards the city that was as tall as the room itself. The colour scheme was white and green, so the room felt cool and tight.

They had dismissed us to our rooms after the parade to have dinner with our stylists and mentors. Leonis, Barry, and I sat awkwardly for twenty minutes not saying anything. It was so quiet we could hear each other chewing their roasted pig and jelly. I was expecting Leonis to scream at the top of his lungs for disobeying his "orders". Trying to avoid it, I scarfed the food down, and escaped before either had moved onto dessert.

And now here I am examining my room's colour scheme. I was about to enter the bathroom and shower off the goop that was plastered to my body when a knock came on my door. Sighing, I walked across the room again to answer it.

Leonis. He stood hunched in the middle of the doorframe with shadows under his angry eyes. Fists clenching, he spoke through his teeth. "What. The. Hell."

Startled by how much anger he could fit into three words, I responded in a stutter. "W-what?"

Being a burly man, he easily pushed his way past me into my room. A growl sound in his throat. "What the HELL were you thinking?! You didn't just not act weak, you did the exact opposite. You _waved_, Jule. Do you know what happens to tributes that wave? They end up waving to an ax lodged in the side of their head. Do you want that, Jule? Do you like waving to axes that spill your brains on the ground?" His eye twitched.

"No. Well, yes. But… NO! Why do you even care? They loved it, Leonis. Loved _me_. That's a good thing. I wouldn't gotten any sponsors with the whole 'wimp act' thing." I twisted my face to try and look as scary as he did, but instantly I knew I failed when he grinned. It wasn't a nice grin at all, but one a hungry wolf would show you before it bit your head off.

"Why do I care?" he asked scarily quiet, but I could tell he was holding back an army of rage. "I care because I can't lose you _again_."

"Again? What do you mean? I don't even know you." I have never seen him before the Games. But being a Capitol person, he probably changed his look every day that ends with _Y_. So maybe I know him, but you'd think I'd remember his personality. Or voice.

He raked his fingers through his hair. I imagined chalk falling to the carpet when he did this, for that's what his grey/white streaks reminded me of. He looked back at me, exhausted. "You're just like her. Just like _her_."

He pushed past me yet again, and slammed the door behind him.

_I've decided to add a twist to the story… Leonis isn't really who he says he is, but in fact he is a character from the actual books. Can anyone guess? Hint: he changed his appearance and his name quite a bit, and is obviously older._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Keep guessing little Fanfictionions! XoXo**_

_I dreamt I was running in a maze. At first, the whole idea seemed fun, like frolicking through a meadow and giggling as the flowers tickled your legs. But as I continued to search from path to path, I started to feel dizzy and trapped. The walls in which I was trying to find my way around were simply tall hedges cut into perfect squares. It felt as if they taunted me when I came to a dead end. "Stupid girl," they whispered. "Week girl. Small girl. Scared girl. Never going to get out. Stupid girl. Week girl. Small girl. Scared girl. Never going to get out. Stupid girl…" Voices chanted at me from all directions, cackling and spitting insults that echoed through the maze._

_ They began to wear me out. My eyes drooped, and my insides felt torn and broken. Maybe the voices are right. I am stupid and week and small and scared. I'm never going to make it out of this maze. Ever. I crawled into a ball in one of the corners. And as I lie down, green tendrils of hand-like vines pulled me deeper and deeper into the earth, making my vision go black._

I sat bolt upright in the bed, causing enough movement to send a device that was on the side table to clatter to the ground. I cringed, and hoped I didn't wake anybody up. Wait. No one's here. I'm alone. Leonis and Barry have their own houses, so I _must_ be. It was then I found my heart was going two times the limit and sweat had begun to collect, sticking my hair to the sides of my face and my shirt to my back. I glanced at the clock at the wall. 3:30 a.m. Despite the time, I felt no sense of tiredness at all. There's nothing else to do, might as well make coffee.

Not bothering to pick up my feet as they dragged across the floor, I walked out into the hallway and towards the kitchen. The rest of the house was pretty much the same as the bedroom; two colours, plants, and twisted furniture. I haven't seen the whole house yet, and was surprised when I looked around to see no kitchen. I'd eaten in this very room yesterday, but apparently hadn't noticed. I guess we get served everything. But where do I order?

As if she heard my thoughts, an Avox girl popped from out of nowhere and came to a stop a few feet away to my right. She didn't look up at me, just meekly stared at the floor. Assuming she was ready to take my order, I gave it to her. "Um… Coffee with strawberry cream, please." She nodded faintly and scurried out of the room.

What to do, what to do? There really is nothing to do besides walk around. I decided to go back to my room. I did so, and walked around to the side of my bed and sat down. Sighing, I studied my toes. Barry and the stylists put a clear, sparkly polish on them after they extended their length. Now the nails were rounded off and smooth. I've never really paid attention to my toenails, but judging by the amount of time it took just to file them down, I probably should have.

I'd left the rooms light off, so the only light came from the hallway. It cast shadows across the floor and on the far wall. For a moment, I thought about my mother. I wondered what she was doing, and how she was coping with me being gone. But then I thought about her reaction to me being picked—a smile—and pushed all thought of her being miserable aside. She was probably drinking and laughing amongst her rich friends while talking about how famous her daughter's death is going to be.

I tasted bile, and took my mind away from those thoughts, not allowing them through. Suddenly, the shadow that dramatically stretched across the room was distorted by a small figure standing in the doorway. I turned, frightened, and saw the Avox girl holding a steaming mug with her head bowed. I immediately stood up and took it from her, thanking her. The coffee smelled normal, but with a twinge of strawberry. And of course the strawberry cream had turned it bright pink. I've always secretly liked the colour pink, and the way it always captures your attention. My mother had never hidden her obsession with it, which is why I did. I don't want to be like her.

I'd rather die.

Ironic? Hell yes.

The Avox, of course, had disappeared without a sound, and I found myself feeling lonely. My heart yearned for some sort of conversation or any type of connection at all. But who else wakes up this early? The roof. I know it's a random thought, but if you were in need of a getaway, wouldn't you go there too?

Only minutes later I tasted the fresh but slightly contaminated air on my tongue. The wind lashed out at me, twirling pieces of red hair around my face. Something was tickling my cheeks, and I realised I hadn't taken my fake eyelashes off and they were coming loose. Impatiently I ripped them off and let them get carried away with the wind. I wasn't necessarily any less lonely up here, but I did feel closer to reality. I saw people walking up and down the streets in their decked out dresses and funky hats, and gathering by the big screen where the Reaping was held was a crowd. On the screen was footage from today's parade. They showed clips of everyone waving—including me—and the audience's reaction to ours. I frowned when I came on, because the audience started to cheer. Why do they like me? I'm not extraordinary, I'm regular. I'm a regular child-of-a-crazy-person kind of kid.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in the crisp wind and took a sip of the warm coffee that made my whole body tingle. I listened to the sounds of the Capitol: the cheer of the people, the smooth vibrations of the trains, and the slight hum of the speakers connected to the screen. No nature.

I used to hear stories about the Mockingjay, and the bird she was named after. No one dared say her actual name. But no one said you couldn't think it. _Katniss Everdeen_. Even in my thoughts I had shivers running down my spine. Most feared her, and for good reasons. She started the rebellions that destroyed the districts, and killed both President Snow and apparently one named Coin, among many others. And now that she was our president, we had even more reason to be afraid.

I leaned over the edge of the building, staring down at the streets below. And all of a sudden, I did something I never knew I would do.

I thought about suicide.

I can't win, I know that for sure. My stylists hate me, and so does my mentor. My own mother is happy to see me killed off, and I have absolutely no one else. If I did, they'd hate me too. Without another thought, I stepped up onto the ledge so that the only thing separating me from plummeting to my death was one step. I'd set my coffee down on the floor, so both of my hands grasped one of the concrete walls. Fear boiled inside me, but I didn't care. Being in the Games would be pure torture, and this would end things right away. Fast and painless, assuming I actually die when I hit the bottom.

Inside my head, I counted to ten.

One, two, three…

Goodbye to everyone I know, but I doubt you will miss me.

Four, five, six…

When I reach the bottom, my bones will crack like sticks.

Seven, eight, nine…

Despite the fact that I am not, tell my mother I am fine.

Ten.

I don't ever want to see you again.

I stepped off the edge.


	8. Chapter 8

And was grabbed by the waist and pulled back. Wrapped around me was a pair of strong, smooth hands heavily scented with Capitol lotions. They set me—not gently—against the ground and spun me around.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I was looking into Spens's dark, angry eyes. He grasped me tightly by the shoulders and was practically spitting in my face.

I answered him darkly, "Jumping."

"Jumping? Off the _building_? You obviously don't know shit about this place."

Confused, I asked him, "What about it?"

He sighed an impatient sigh, "You can't go off the edge, Jule. It'll electrocute you and send you flying back. You think they didn't know people would try suicide?"

I guess they would have fixed that by now. _Dammit_! I hated that he was right! So instead of admitting my mistake, I played it off. "I know! I'm not _stupid_, Spens. I just thought—_thought_ maybe…" I was at a loss for words. What _was_ I thinking? Suicide isn't like me. Heck, I don't even like heights. It was as if the Jule that was about to kill herself was different than the Jule I was now. At least this one had some sense.

He looked at me as if I were stupid. "Thought what, Jule? Thought the shock would kill you? Doubt it. It would just hurt like a mother."

_Isn't that true. _"Well, it didn't hurt to try. I'm fine so you can go." Still unable to move, I wiggled in his grasp. "Or you can _let_ me go."

He released my arms as if just realising he were still holding them. I'm sure I'd have bruises in the morning. For a moment he just stared at his feet, and I stared at him. He wasn't fake like most Capitol boys were, but rather raw and rough, even though he was gussied up like a girl on her wedding day. You know, aside from the puffy white gown and high heels. He looked up, eye blazing. "Do you think you're the only one that doesn't want to be here? I don't want to die, Jule. If someone in these games does, I think they need their heads checked for sadistic brain cells." He turned and walked back towards the door, before yelling back, "Jump off if you want. Don't be sad when you come into training as a Jule bacon strip!"

He was funny, but I didn't laugh. In fact, I found myself walking over and picking up my coffee. It was cold, and the sweetness was no longer satisfying. My taste buds begged me for something bitter and sour. Maybe a lemon is nearby. I tried to think about jumping off again, but was instantly repelled.

Deciding being outside would do me no good, I went back into the loft. An Avox was there and ready, and I ordered the lemon I was craving. She didn't ask how I wanted it. But I assumed there weren't many ways of having a lemon, and of course Avox's can't talk.

Again, I found myself sitting on my bed, thinking. Gosh, I don't know how people do this all the time. It was exhausting. I used to believe that if I tried hard enough, I would be able to not think. It was relaxing for a while—pretending not to think—but I always felt lost. I'd test my theories before I went to bed, and tried to erase all the scary memories that could give me bad dreams. But of course I was seven, and everything at that time gave me nightmares. My conclusion was that you can never escape your memories no matter how awful they are and how hard you try.

I looked around the room, and looked at the floor to ceiling window. I knew what it did: you used the remote to switch it to whatever scenery you want. My mom had installed millions of these all over the house. I would often get confused about the time of day. To my mom, the day never ended, and the windows were a way for her to prove her point.

Once again, the shadows were disrupted by a small figure in the door, and I looked to see it was the Avox girl with my lemon.

It was set on a silver tray unnecessarily big for a lemon, which was cut into six pieces. I took it with a thankful nod, and she retreated down the hallway silently. And just as I set the tray down, I noticed a note lying on top of the embroidered napkin. Who would be sending me a note? Is it even mine? Eventually, curiosity won me over, and I picked up the note.

It was on white/orange paper, and was sealed shut with apple-red wax. I unsealed it, and found a handwritten note. It read:

_Jule,_

_ I request your attendance at my home as soon as possible._

So, it was for me. But from who? I studied the paper, and almost dropped it when I found something I hadn't seen before.

Imprinted in the wax seal was the sign of the Mockingjay.


End file.
